


Spirited and Idle

by nikniknik



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-05-06
Packaged: 2018-03-29 09:15:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3890842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nikniknik/pseuds/nikniknik
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ganondorf wastes away among the comforts of the throne, until an unexpected event in the Coliseum has him setting his sights on a new challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spirited and Idle

Ganondorf was _bored_. It had been a long slow building feeling, starting with triumph, then pride, then contentment, and finally boredom. Conquest of Hyrule had been such an all-consuming goal to him that having finally accomplished it there was little else worthy of his time. He had started as a lone renegade faction in the desert, and through blood and sweat he had built an Empire greater than the world had ever known. He held dominion over countless peoples, he sat in the throne of the past Kings of Hyrule. He alone unified the valley and the lands beyond. He had every comfort he could imagine, yet he wasted away here atop cushioned pillows surrounded by consorts and advisors, gilded treasures and fine meals. He despised this indulgence.

            The coliseum remained the one place in his new capitol he truly adored. Within its imposing vaulted stone walls there was opposition. The slaves brought in still struggled, challenged, _fought_. He lived vicariously through the beasts and brawlers showcased below, delighted by their ferocity and amused by their cowardice. The more brutal and bloody the proceedings, the more Ganondorf felt roused from his idleness. There may be no conquests grand enough left to satisfy him, but there was always sport in the fate of men’s lives and he controlled it all.

            And today was his favorite event, Sands of Time. The name was pretentious, but they had hired a poet to name all of them, give them wider audience appeal. Privately Ganondorf referred to this one as ‘Inevitable Carnage’. He fancied himself a poet too, just of a different temperament. The trial was simple. Large stones and piles of rubble lay scattered around the arena otherwise filled with soft sand. The unarmed fighters destined to die there were released in first, then a pack of leevers joined them. Their only hope was to seek higher ground. Simple at first, but sand was poured into the pit at a steady rate, slowly submerging each rocky outcropping. The game inevitably turned to a lone survivor, sprinting across increasingly wide expanses of sand to reach the nearest safe haven. If one were to reach the final, tallest structure marked with a golden spire, they could earn their freedom, but precious few ever made it before they were devoured. Ganondorf thinks the suspense is his favorite part.

            The ‘players’ rise up from the tunnels below the arena as the spectators cheer. Ganondorf’s hands stay motionless. His praise does not come so easy. This group is acting differently than usual. Instead of the people scattering, knocking each other over and scrabbling to get to any high ground, they seem to be moving in small organized groups to the tallest clusters of rock. They are helping one another up. He scowls and sits up, eyes watching the movements and looking for a leader. One of them had to be directing the others. Frightened people do not assist one another of their own will.

            The leader makes it easy for him to spot. He is barely more than a boy, moving alone, deliberately walking to the center of the open sand. The crowd is murmuring. The boy turns, stands, and waits, looking up defiantly at the throne. Ganondorf’s pulse quickens. This is a challenge, and the boy would surely die for it. Bravado cannot defend against teeth and claws. He sees the shift and shuffle of leevers moving under the sand and settles back in his chair, looking forward to watching this fool break and run screaming from the hoard. That would put the fear right back into all of them. There’s a chuckle waiting in his throat, but it never comes.

            There is a spray of blood when the first leever emerges from the sand, but it a sickly green, not vibrant red. He has grabbed one of the long sharp tusks by the base, fingers inches away from the snapping jaws in the center, and kicked out strong and hard at the body of the creature. The result is a screech and the tearing of flesh as the creature is pushed back, its tusk still held firmly in place. He kicks again. This time he wrenches his hand down in time with the motion and with a wet _snap_ the tusk comes free. Bleeding, gurgling, and fearful, the wounded animal retreats back underground. Ganondorf is on the edge of his seat. The boy is holding a fang, roughly the size of his forearm in his left hand and he is ready when the subsequent overgrown leeches appear.

            He is not a trained fighter, that much is clear. He fights with mad, erratic motions. He has learned to fight the only way that matters, by living surrounded by danger. There is a ruthlessness in him that is produced no other way. The blood in Ganondorf’s veins _burns_. As more and more animals crowd to bite at him Ganondorf does not know if he wishes to be beside them, or beside _him_.

            Despite the boy’s tenacity, the fang is not a sufficient weapon, and he has no form of defense. His legs and arms are soon bleeding from gashes and scrapes, but never is a limb sucked down and severed. Before the monsters have a chance, the fang rips at their unguarded middles and after a few hits they squeal and burrow down again. After a few rounds, when already injured leevers return for a second try, Ganondorf motions for an attendant. The whispered instruction is relayed quickly, and when the Boy stands triumphant amidst discarded leever corpses there is a rumble. Ganondorf is excited, he has never had the chance to use this creature, and he looks forward to how it will perform.

            The crowd is deafening now, and the other would be victims are crying and applauding from their perches. A hush falls over them all as a rumbling sound begins below the arena. The workers had dutifully done their jobs, continuing to add sand all during the fight. The monster had quite a bit to burrow through. With a roar a massive peahat bursts from the sand, sharpened, spinning leaves lifting it into the air and spraying sand at everyone in the pit.

            The boy raises an arm to block his eyes, but he wastes no time on cowering or freezing before the new challenge. His voice rings out, loud and full of youth. He gestures to the far wall of the arena, telling the other captives to cluster against it and to keep back. They follow his orders. Ganondorf does not like that. The monstrous plant bearing down on him now, the boy does not flinch. He ducks, rolling forward and winding up behind the spinning leaves. He buries that damn tusk in the vulnerable bulb at its base, and the fight is over much faster than Ganondorf would have liked.

            When the beast lies still, Link yanks out his bloodied weapon, and climbs atop the fallen body. Dirty clothes stained green with the guts of leevers, golden hair matted with browning blood from a cut on his scalp, blue eyes glaring defiantly up at Ganondorf, the boy is beautiful. With a triumphant yell he trusts his left hand into the air, stolen tooth pointed to the sky. The cheers are deafening. Ganondorf stands, pounding a single fist on the stone balcony of the royal box. It cracks. The noise dies within three heavy deep breaths, and Ganondorf claps.

            “Congratulations boy! Anaul, what is this boy’s crime?”

            The coordinator of the coliseum scrabbles with her notes and records, but before she can respond, the brat himself answers.

            “I am a thief!”

            “Very well. Your triumph has won you your freedom!”

            A resounding cheer erupts from the crowd again. The boy is not happy. There is a fury in his eyes and a determination in his chest as he shouts back up. He gestures at the handful of cowering Hylians behind him. They are a pitiful lot.

            “I will trade my freedom for theirs!”

            Ganondorf laughs. He is angry, alive, excited.

            “So you wish to negotiate boy? Very well you will be granted an audience with me. You have earned that much at least.”

            He snaps at two of his retainers.

            “Treat his wounds, have him cleaned, then bring him to me.”

            Ganondorf does not stay to watch the rest of the games.

 

**Author's Note:**

> And that's chapter one! This whole thing is still in progress, and this was only edited by myself. Hopefully as I get more confident with what I actually want to happen here the quality will improve. orz


End file.
